


Is That A Knife In You Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

by anotheranonymity



Category: Z Nation (TV)
Genre: Accidental Stabbings, F/F, I Love Sarge and Would Die For Her, I write slowly and don’t have a beta bear with me, Murphy begrudgingly ships it, Sarge is a damn tsundere, Takes place sometime between The Vanishing and The Uknowns, The whole gang kinda ships it tbh, They love their melee weapons, Warren Ships It, Weapon Maintenance, no smut...yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-24 04:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13803744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotheranonymity/pseuds/anotheranonymity
Summary: You flirt with Sarge a lot. Sarge isn’t impressed. Accidental stabbings and hijinks ensue.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know how to write, I’m a beginner. But I love Sarge and she’s really adorable so my undying love for her character made this.

You smiled lazily, she was so cute.  
Small, tough, and probably would kick your ass ten times over. But still incredibly cute.

“C’mon Sarge, I’d like to see your privates,” you drawled, slowly eyeing the shorter woman.

She merely glared at you from behind those ever-present shades. 

“That’s inappropriate conduct civilian,” she said stiffly- looking away to dutifully continue her role as lookout.

You stuck your lower lip out in a pout, “You’re never any fun,”

Turning your eyes back to the rolling hills of post-apocalyptic America you huffed, rare were the days you felt like making jokes. But the small, feisty Sarge brought some hope to you, she was strict- yes, but her resolve and determination pushed you forward. And you didn’t mind her company. She was pretty and clever- and best of all- a hell of a shot.

Endless hordes of the undead were less than eye-appealing, even the beauty of the landscape had diminished over time. It was no longer green and lush, but a decaying amalgam of browns and yellows. Harsh and unforgiving. So you appreciated the fact that she was pretty.

You continued to sharpen your machete atop the truck Warren was trying to start. 

Damn Z’s always wore weapons down to a dull edge eventually. Grumbling in mild annoyance, you briefly wondered if you should sharpen your hatchet as well, but the familiar cry of Warren’s voice cut through the air. 

“Puppies and Kittens! Three O’Clock!” 

Glancing upwards you saw a small pack of zombies, probably tourists before Day One. The hawaiian shirts and oversized hats clued you in. You started to get up, but Sarge quickly put two of them down with a bullet. Being in the Marines had really made her an asset to the gang.

But all ammo runs out eventually and it seemed that the poor teen was out, so you waved to catch her attention,

“Don’t worry, I got the big fella” you said, hopping off the roof of the truck. 

Quickly unbuckling your hatchet, you readied yourself for the oncoming Z.

He was big, actually fat for a Z eight years into apocalyptic hell. Dancing on your feet, you took a swipe at one of his limbs. Your hatchet caught, stuck in the Z’s arm, Feeling a stab of fear you tried to yank the weapon back out. It tore out of the zombie’s arm with some effort, you cursed slightly. The Z continued to stumble and swipe at you, snarling like a mad dog. 

Sarge laughed dryly, “You need some help there civilian?”

You growled slightly at her tone, then tightened your fingers around the hatchet. Raising it above your head you swung, burying the weapon into the Z’s head. With a spurt of blackened blood the zombie went limp and fell to the ground in a heap. Kneeling, you wiggled the hatchet free and shook it slightly to fling some of the greying brain matter off the weapon.

Wiping the blood of your face you spoke gruffly, “I’m good Sarge, nice shot back there.”

She seemed almost surprised that you were offering genuine praise and not senselessly flirting with her. You almost never missed a chance to make a suave pun or shameless tease. Sarge briefly wondered if you were maybe changing your methods. Somehow the idea of you being less of a flirt and more of a serious person didn’t fit. But just as she was sure your pun-making tendencies were indeed fading, you spoke up,

“Man that guy looked like he needed a couple of vacation days,” 

Sarge felt a shred of relief and you didn’t miss the small smile that made its way onto her face.

Grinning back at her, you vaguely heard Murphy muttering something about ‘lovebirds’ from the back of the truck. He could be quite the sourpuss sometimes- well all the time really. 

You turned to Warren and peeked into the truck’s hood, “How’s it lookin’ Chief?”

“We’ll be back on the road in about 15 minutes,” she said as she fiddled with some wires.

True to her word, the car sparked and sputtered to life in a fit of irritation. The thing wasn’t happy to be started after sleeping so long but eventually it came around. 

Warren and Murphy sat in the front, with Warren in the driver's seat and Murphy in the passengers. The ex-zombie had complained about car sickness, but everyone knew he really just wanted to sit next to Warren. Warren herself had rolled her eyes and had given the passenger seat to Murphy to shut him up. The whole ordeal of Murphy squabbling and Warren scoffing had earned a snicker from the rest of the gang. 

10k, Doc and Lucy could all squeeze in the back- a bit of a tight fit, but the three didn’t mind. Their conversation drifted backwards and you could hear an occasional bit of laughter. They really were a family. It made a small, but genuine, smile crawl across your face.

However, not everyone could fit in the back passenger seats of the truck. You and Sarge were the only ones left. 

In the back. 

Alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The accidental stabbing part of the story begins now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shrugs*   
> I tried.

Not everyone could fit in the back passenger seats of the truck. You and Sarge were the only ones left. 

In the back. 

Alone.

Neither of you spoke, you sharpened your hatchet and Sarge stared at the landscape from behind her shades. It was awkward to say the least.

You tried not to think about the awkward silence and instead tried to continue to sharpen your weapons. Using the file you carried at all times, you continually scraped it against the blade. 

Unbeknownst to you, Sarge was eyeing the hatchet in your hands. She knew you were thinning the blade and she wondered, did you even know what you were doing? Next time you’d swing the thing at a Z it’d shatter and be useless. Sarge decided to do something about this, even if you were an useless flirt and pun-maker you were a part of the operation. And there was a reason you’d made it this far through eight years of irradiated, zombie-infested apocalypse.

Sarge cleared her throat and you looked up, “You’re not sharpening the blade right, you’re just thinning the edge,” 

You made a small ‘hm’ noise. 

Sarge huffed, “Come here, I’ll show you how to do it right.” 

You smirked, with eyes still on the file, “Oh, you‘ll show me how to do it right, will you?”

Sarge made a noise of offense, “One more flirt and I toss you off the truck for the Z’s” she threatened. 

You held up your hands in defense,  
“Ok, ok, calm down. No more flirting-“ Sarge continued to glare at you, 

“I promise! I swear on the grave of Zombie Jesus” 

Satisfied, Sarge shifted over to sit across from you and took the sharpener and hatchet out of your hands. Holding the weapon at an angle she brought the file across it deftly. 

“See how I’m not trying to strip the material off the edge?” 

You nodded and watched her work the blade into a blade perfect for Z killing. She really was good at this, you briefly pondered why she didn’t have a melee weapon of her own. When she seemed satisfied she handed you the file and hatchet, 

“You try now”

You carefully brought the file against the weapon, more slowly than you used to. Trying to imitate Sarge’s careful movements. You thought you were doing pretty good.

And you actually were. 

But Sarge huffed, “No, no- not like that-“ pausing she grabbed your hands, “you’re thinking too much- it’s quick and simple- like this.” 

With her hands controlling yours, she made the same movements. The exact same movements. You barely noticed though, too focused upon the marine’s hands curled around your own. It was then you realized just how long it’d been since you’d been touched. 

Meanwhile, in the driver’s seat, Warren had tuned out Murphy’s grumbling and the continual chatter of Lucy, Doc and 10k. She had been lazily scanning the countryside for puppies and kittens to avoid, occasionally checking the rearview mirror of the truck. What caught her eyes was a small space between 10k and Lucy, there, through the backseat window she could see you and Sarge. What Warren did not see was the hatchet in Sarge’s hands as she tried to teach you about proper weapon maintenance.

Warren rolled her eyes, you kids were so clueless. Maybe you just needed a bump in the right direction, she thought- eyeing a small pothole in the dilapidated road. She shifted the steering wheels slightly, and the car bounced as they hit the sizable pothole. Murphy squawked in surprise, 10k and Doc chuckled and best of all- Sarge fell right into your lap.

——

Sarge had just told you that you were “showing improvement” when the truck hit a pothole straight on. Three things happened at once. 

One- Sarge’s ever present shades bounced off of her faced and clattered on the bed of the truck. Revealing her eyes- a brilliant green that reminded you of the lily pond outside of your childhood home. Your home. The thought of it made you ache. You noticed that. without the shades, Sarge seemed almost...emotional, you could see what she was actually feeling.

Two- Sarge herself haphazardly fell into your lap, her arms on each side of you and her face against your midriff in a strange sort of impromptu hug. To the shorter girl, you were warm and soft- softer than anything else the rest of the world had to offer. And she realized that maybe weren’t so bad. A shameless flirt and even worse joke-teller, but not unbearable. Plus it’d been years since physical touch hadn’t had the attached connotation of ‘violence-kill-survive’. Blood quickly rose to her cheeks and they warmed to red in embarrassment.

And Three- the hatchet in Sarge’s grip slid against your side, slicing the cloth and skin open. Blood quickly pooled, staining your faded t-shirt and current sports bra. You hadn’t even noticed it until some of it had been smeared across Sarge’s arm. A strangled noise left your throat as the stab of pain quickly followed and you tensed under the smaller girl. 

You muttered a small “fuck” under your breath and a wave of nausea passed over you. Between the lack of food and water lately; you saw your vision dim slightly.

“Sarge!” you yelped, as the pain started to spread, “get the first aid kit. Please.”

The girl on top of you snapped out of it and scrambled backwards, chest heaving slightly. Blood dripped down your side as she tried to find the medical kit. Propping yourself up you tried to breath, it had been a confusing whirlwind of action and you suddenly needed air like your life depended on it. Which it technically did, but that didn’t really occur to you as your side was split open and oozing red.

Suddenly Sarge was at your side, kneeling, she spoke anxiously, “You gotta sit up,”

Somehow through the pain all your mind focused upon was Sarge’s fingers fluttering around the hem of your shirt. She grasped the material gently and pulled it upwards and over your head, the cloth was tossed to the other side of the truck. The other girl cussed, “Fuck, I gotta take your bra off okay? The cut is under your upper arm,” 

You nodded and let out a wry chuckle, “Looks like you get to see my privates Sarge,” 

“This is hardly the time for jokes!” The Sarge squawked as she tried to gently pull the second layer of clothing off of you. 

Shuddering slightly at the cool air, you felt the rusted metal of the truck press against your back. Pain radiated from your side, and you hissed as Sarge began to wipe some of the blood away. She pressed a small cloth into your hand, 

“Press this against the wound, and apply pressure” 

You obeyed and winced slightly.

Sarge dug into the med kit. There had to be something in there to help her clean your wound. ‘God I’m was so fucking stupid’, she thought. I mean what would you think after this? You’d probably leave the gang and they’d be so mad at her and she’d miss your company so much. Ok yeah, maybe you were a stupid flirt and told corny jokes. But you were sweet and had a heart of faded gold, you still felt things after eight numbing years of parasitic disease. You were scarred and traumatized like every other but you were goddamn human. A little bit warmer and softer than the rest of the world.

You had been watching Sarge anxiously dig through the med kit for a solid minute. 

“Sarge!-“ You barked, she snapped back to attention,

“I’m fine, just tell me if I need stitches or not.” you said, biting down on another groan. 

She stammered, “N-no, well yes. But only a couple, two should be enough,”

“Alrighty- go ahead, stitch me up Sarge,” you said, trying your best to be nonchalant as possible. 

It was hard to be cool, you were half-naked with Sarge’s hands dangerously close to your privates. Which was both laughable and somewhat embarrassing. 

You bit your tongue as Sarge stitched you up, it hurt like hell but you’d take a bullet for the small girl. This could be dealt with. Breathing through your nose, you focused on Sarge’s hands once more. The gentle brushes of her fingers against your chest and side, you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t...nice.

Sarge herself was focused upon stitching you up, but as she tied your wound off her eyes drifted. You were actually...really...uhm..good looking. You weren’t ripped, nobody in the apocalypse was, but you were lean. And your chest was...Sarge turned her gaze away, embarrassed she’d given in and looked. She shouldn’t have…

She shouldn’t have looked. But it was something that she wouldn’t so easily forget. The image of you, on your back- panting was one that she’d definitely remember.

You, meanwhile, sucked in air as the sergeant tied off the stitches in your closed wound and began bandaging it. Panting slightly, you shivered and closed your eyes. You were good, you were ok. You’d live.

Then, hesitantly, a red-faced Sarge took your hand and pressed an aspirin into it. You glanced at it and shook your head, 

“I can’t take this Sarge, it’s the last one. I’m okay. I’ll be fine,” 

The younger girl looked concerned. Shifting forwards, closer to her you picked her shades up, gently placing them back on her face. 

“I’m not mad ok? It was an accident,” you whispered, your mouth dangerously close to her lips. 

You leaned back,

“Plus if you’re willing to stab me just to get a look at my chest I’m impressed. Takes guts. Get it?” you joked.

Sarge opened her mouth to protest, maybe scold you for yet another flirt. But she paused. Then snickered. And instead of protest, the most beautiful laughter you’d ever heard bubbled up.

You smiled and reached for your shirt, pulling it back over your head you shifted closer to sit next to Sarge. Then you leaned against the back of the truck, drifting off as the sun set over both you and Sarge. 

Eventually you were asleep, head against the ex-marine’s shoulder. And for once in her life, Sarge managed to relax. If only a little.

Being under the stars with you… 

Made the world a little less apocalyptic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m literally the cheesiest person on the planet and this is my guilty self-indulgence


End file.
